


The Triumph of Failure

by AmputeeTrainee



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Annoyed Theseus, Character Study, Hate Sex, Kinda, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Spanking, Trans Hypnos (Hades Video Game), imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmputeeTrainee/pseuds/AmputeeTrainee
Summary: Theseus hadn't thought it possible to hate someone as much as the bastard Prince.How wrong he'd been.---The one where Hypnos annoys Theseus until he snaps.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Hypnos/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136





	The Triumph of Failure

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hypnos. Really. But I don't think everyone is as good-natured as Zag when dying on repeat. Theseus, for example. After listening to his VA and his imposter syndrome, ideas came. Beware, Hypnos is a little shit. Hints of established Ast/Thes. 
> 
> Have some rare pair weirdness. Posting this, I now realize this pairing like...doesn’t exist?? So here goes nothing lol.
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AmputeeTrainee). <3

"Welcome to the House of Hades!" A chipper voice greets. 

The tone pierces Theseus. He fails to suppress a twitch. The blood is barely done drying from his frame as he exits the Pool of Styx and into the main hall of the house. 

"Wait—I know you! Wow, haven't seen you back here in ages," Hypnos gasps at him, lidded eyes raising a hair in surprise. "Guess things are getting pretty tough in the stadium now, huh? Let's see, it says here...oh, looks like Zagreus finally got you."

"A small deviance on the road to certain victory,” Theseus returns with bravado. “My unfailing companion will surely make quick work of him. For nothing will temper our righteous fury." 

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see," Hypnos offers, quilted shoulders giving an apathetic shrug.

"We shall," he challenges and struts away. 

Theseus moves to wait at the end of the hall, arms crossed and eyes trained on the crimson pool. Any second, the small, pathetic form of the Prince will rise. He's certain of it. 

He waits. Uncountable minutes pass sluggishly, but no matter how many infernal moments trickle by, he will not be bowed. No. Theseus made a promise long ago to never leave his companion's side. He will not exit the House of Hades to wait for the ferryman to ride back to Elysium until he knows Asterius is victorious. 

Shades continue to spill out of the pool one by one. Large, small, they nearly all look alike. A shock of black hair breaks the viscous surface. A grin slices Theseus's face; the sharpness makes his cheek muscles twitch.

The blaggard has been stopped. 

Pride swelling in his chest, Theseus shoots a triumphant look at the annoying little greeter of a god floating in the hallway. Nothing but closed eyes and slack lips meet him. Looking like a grey-skinned marble statue, Hypnos dozes on his closed fist, quill still in hand. 

Theseus sneers and turns away. Asterius won. That is enough to satisfy him. The loss to the foul Prince is a mishap, a mistake he shall not make again. 

Theseus will not fall a second time. 

He knows his place; he is still a king.

Before the Prince catches sight of him, Theseus turns to exit the house. He makes his way to the dock, waiting for a ride back to the splendor of Elysium. To his rightful place by his companion's side in the arena. 

He will not be back here to this house of darkness and death, greeted by a clown.

* * *

Theseus is chosen by the gods. When he calls, they answer. They divinely lend their might and fury to turn the tide of battle, punishing those foolish enough to think they can oppose him and his companion.

But so is the bastard Prince, it seems. The gods heed the blaggard’s call as well. Theseus is not a stranger to being at the whims of the powers above, but to think they would listen to such a low-life scoundrel?

He doesn't understand.

Athena's blessing sends his own spear hurtling back. The razor tip pierces his side. 

"No, it cannot be—" Theseus gasps, crumpling to one knee. 

He falls. 

Blood and darkness envelopes him, consumes him. Liquid swaths of crimson and blackness fill his vision. Lungs that no longer need air gasp when Theseus breaches the surface of the Pool of Styx. He crawls out of the ruddy waters with all the dignity he can muster. 

This is a mistake. He...he can’t have failed. He left Asterius behind again. 

"Welcome to the House of Hades," A pleasant voice greets. "Or should I say, welcome back!"

Any intention Theseus has of walking by fractures. He pauses stride in front of the floating nuisance of a greeter. 

"I will not dignify that with a response," Theseus grits. 

"Well, you sorta just did," Hypnos returns.

Theseus bristles, hands closing into fists. The way the god's smile curls makes him bite his tongue. Chin high, Theseus turns away, stalking toward the end of the hall. He waits for his beloved companion to finish off the Prince, ignoring the glow of half-lidded sleepy eyes watching him. He falters, only once, only a single time. 

He glances over, and Hypnos’s smile grows at the ends like a pulled seam. Those unearthly yellow eyes peek at the scroll, then slowly focus back on him. The small god's lidded gaze is aloof yet knowing. Annoying. 

Theseus grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the pool. 

Two twin horns rise from the blood-red waters. His shoulders fall, stomach suddenly lined with lead as a large, towering back brakes the red surface. A gasping snort follows. 

They...failed.

* * *

Failure is a bitter lesson, but it is a potent teacher. 

Theseus knows who he is, who he was. He is a beacon of hope, a bastion of eternal righteousness in the face of darkness.

He’s a hero—nay, a legend. 

At least, that’s what Theseus tells himself. He’s fallen once. And he’ll get back up, again, and again, and again. Because he must. Has too. 

He and Asterius rearm themselves. His faithful companion is resolute, unshaken. When he looks into those soft brown eyes, he does not see doubt. 

There is a comfort in the Minotaur’s faith and their deepening fraternal bonds, and Theseus draws from it silently. They may have lost a few battles to the Prince now, but they will win the war. 

Aside from increasingly challenging battles, the wicked Prince’s persistence has other untended effects. For example, there seems to be more money in the coffers of the Underworld than ever.

Every time he and Asterius are beaten, every time they die, new, gloomy splendor flashes before their eyes.

“Welcome to the House of Hades!”

The Pool of Styx is laced with white petals now. The scattered flora sticks to his skin when the blood dries, dusting him like flakes of pure snow. 

“Hey, back already? That was a quick one that time.”

The new carpet is soft beneath his feet or would be if Theseus were without his sandals. Still, he can feel the give in the woven material, the luxury. The rugs remind him of the ones in his old palace, before all this.

“Ah—wha! I'm up! Oh, it’s only you. You startled me! You’re back _sooo_ soon.”

A silk, embroidered couch now rests against the wall on the left-hand side of the hall, the very side Theseus pointedly refuses to acknowledge. 

“Would you look at that, back again! That’s gotta be the fastest defeat yet.”

Candles now burn with a new unearthly light. The dancing fire makes the shadows seem to twist along the cold, alabaster walls like ugly misshapen shades. 

“Heeey, would you look at that! You’re becoming a real regular here, king.” 

But there is one thing that is always the same.

Every infernal time he dies, that cheerful little pest Hypnos is there. Floating without a care in the world, idly noting every blasted time he’s died. Every time he’s failed. That stupid scroll keeping an endless tally of all the times the dastardly Prince has outdone him. 

A king wouldn’t dignify such a small, insignificant pip, even if they were technically a god. A king wouldn’t return the sly little jeers hidden under layers of oozing merriment. A king would be above such small slights wrapped in mocking friendliness. 

But Theseus doesn’t feel like a king. He feels like a fool. 

“Welcome back! Looks like Zagreus got you again, huh?” Hypnos questions flippantly, quill in hand idly. “Have you considered dodging next time?”

That is what breaks him.

“Shut your mouth, you little viper!” Theseus hisses, lunging at the small god. 

Hands grab onto quilted shoulders. He crushes the little nuisance to the wall, who is surprisingly compliant and lightweight for a god. Theseus doesn't know what he expected. Shock? Anger perhaps? 

Instead, that dopey smile grows, curling like ribbon at the edges. Hypnos looks steadily up at him through lidded eyes like a kitten with cream, as if the annoying excuse for a god was relishing every second. Theseus grits his teeth, knowing his face must be a mask of fury. 

Yet, his livid stare and tensing grip did nothing but make that wretched smile spread across the sleepy deity’s face. Aside from the blaggard Prince, Theseus has never wanted to put someone’s head through a wall more. 

“What is the meaning of this—unhand my greeter this instant!” The Lord of the House booms. 

Theseus freezes. 

Both he and Hypnos turn and find that Hades's fiery, beady eyes are locked on them. Sitting stiffly behind his desk, the Lord of the Underworld looks like he's about to snap the quill in his hand as it hovers mid-stroke. 

Theseus releases Hypnos and takes a stiff step back. Soft, under breath giggles leak from the little menace.

“My...my king?” a deep voice asks in a whisper. 

Theseus feels this stomach sink and glances back. Asterius is standing behind him several paces away. How long has the Minotaur been there? When did he exit the pool?

“Both of you!” Hades snaps, thrusting a finger at Theseus, then the God of Sleep. “Come here, now.”

* * *

Theseus hasn’t been lectured in forever. Not since he was a boy. 

He bears the brunt of Hades’s judgment with silence and grace. Head held high, but eyes downcast. Theseus knows he messed up. Trying to throttle the lackadaisical harpy was not at all a move befitting a king.

“You have a position of authority here for a shade. Do not make me regret giving you and your beastly companion the task of stopping the Prince from leaving the arena.” Hades glowers at him. "Or would you rather I put you back in the throne I fashioned for you?"

Memories of the infernal chair of forgetfulness flash through his mind, and he shakes his head once. 

“No, my Lord,” Theseus answers stiffly, meeting eyes that burn like cursed fire. "I will remain steadfast in my duties."

“And you.” Hades’s eyes flick down toward the floating idiot beside Theseus, then narrow. “Blood and darkness— _Hypnos!_ Pay attention!”

The Lord's meaty fist bangs against the desk once with an echoing boom. 

The little god’s head snaps up. 

“Ah! Wha—I’m awake!” 

“You continue to be a disappointment,” Hades spits, balled hand tightening until knuckles showed white under grey skin. “You are meant to welcome the dead, not goad them.”

“But, my Lord Hades. I am doing my job! I’m making sure everyone feels welcomed, offering helpful advice,” Hypnos replies with an innocent shrug, before turning to look at Theseus standing beside him. “Right?”

Theseus feels his eye tick as he hisses, “You have the audacity to think your words are in any way helpful?”

Hypnos offers another lazy shrug. Theseus grits his teeth so hard enamel squeaks. Hades gives a deep, heavy sigh and kneads the skin over his nose. Dealing with the little god was clearly exhausting to the Lord of the House, too.

“Both of you—return to your duties this instant. If I have to deal with your pettiness again, you will both be sorry,” Hades dismisses. 

Theseus nods sharply, the sinking feeling in his chest growing. He hadn’t felt this small since he forgot to tie that blasted sail. Since he had between thrown off that stupid cliff.

Since, since...since he’d been alive. 

Theseus spares the floating pest a glare. Half-lidded orbs hold his gaze, unaffected, unflappable, and undaunted. The hot metallic taste of rage fills his mouth as that sleepy smile stretches teasingly wider.

He hadn't thought it possible to hate someone as much as the bastard Prince. 

How wrong he'd been.

* * *

There is a sheen of sweat on Asterius as the Minotaur enters the arena, battleax resting over his hulking shoulder. Theseus can’t help but drink in the tall, imposing form as his companion lumbers toward him. The Prince is making another run. Time to prepare. 

“Ah, you’ve been practicing already, my faithful friend,” Theseus greets with a wide grin and a hearty wave.

“Yes.”

“You should inform me next time you feel the need to trade practice blows,” he offers, surprised his companion hadn’t sought him out as usual. 

“I will, but this time, a different target seemed more appropriate,” Asterius declines, gaze shifting uncomfortably. 

“Whom have you been sparing with then, my strapping companion?”

“Um...I.” Asterius rubs the back of his neck. 

“Asterius, you can confide in me. Surely, you understand I will always take your words to heart,” he assures, reaching up to pat the muscular forearm.

“I fought with the Prince," The Minotaur admits, honest to a fault. “He is small and troublesome but proving to be stronger than expected. I wanted to understand his technique, and if at all possible, slow him down before reaching the stadium."

Theseus's face falls at the words, heart lodging in his throat. 

For the first time in years, he sees something like doubt flicker in those large, honey-brown eyes. Words clog in his throat as it constructs, like an iron brand just wrapped around his neck. 

“I...see,” Theseus manages after a moment. 

And he does see. 

He understands that he’s failing and falling, further and further.

* * *

Theseus gets a manic idea. A brilliant idea. A terrible, horrible, fantastic idea: he’s going to run that bastard Prince over. 

He and Asterius rearm themselves, again. This time they put all the wealth that the blaggard keeps flooding the Underworld with to better use. Theseus puts in a contract with the house, requesting Daedalus's assistance and expertise.

The chariot is a marvel of engineering. The Macedonian Tau-Lambda is the strongest chariot to have ever been made. The turrets? Superb. The mask? Befitting royalty. 

Theseus feels like the king he should be when he gazes at his reflection. Asterius looks impeccable, too. His strapping companion appears even more domineering in the bronze armor with double-crested pauldrons on each shoulder. 

They make a fierce duo. Together, they will overcome.

They face the Prince. 

Even Theseus can hear the manic edge in his voice as he chases the blaggard around the arena. The painful sound grows when the Prince dodges his bombs and louder still when he’s knocked from the chariot. Even with the new-fangled bullets, the explosives, and the spiked wheels, it's still not enough. 

The Prince’s sword catches him in the side despite everything. 

"Daaamn, you…." Theseus grits.

The floor rushes up to catch him, then there is nothing but blood and darkness.

* * *

Theseus stumbles out of the pool and into the main hall in a daze. The armor is gone from his body, melted off his frame as if he is unworthy of it. And he is. The truth is so bitter, he can barely swallow, breathe, think. 

“Welcome to the House of Hades!” The ever-present voice greets. “Even with all that shiny new armor, the Prince managed to bet ya again, huh?”

Theseus feels his jaw tick. A vein in his temple twitches. His gaze flicks from the divine annoyance to the empty desk at the end of the hall, then back. 

The tiny, yapping mongrel of a god just created an easy target. Theseus hates himself and Hypnos all the more as his feet stalk toward the caped figure. He stops before the god. Nothing but contempt must burn in his glare, but the floating nuisance just smiles back. 

“I—” Theseus thickly swallows, trying to keep his rage in check. “I _respectfully_ request that you keep your comments to yourself.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to do my job, silly. Besides, how else can your biggest fan show their support?” Hypnos returns, eyebrows bouncing once. 

Theseus narrows his eyes at the dopey face. “ _You?_ You are a fan.”

“Absolutely~!”

“Impossible,” he spits, thrusting a finger at the ash-colored face. “And that is _exactly_ what I am talking about. All these sly little jabs and falsehoods. It needs to end.”

For once, Hypnos looks confused. “Falsehoods? Wow, all those recent blows to the head must have taken a toll on you.”

“You little—” Theseus stops himself again, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper. “My faculties are fine, your provocation notwithstanding.”

“I really think you have this all backward, king. I’m just trying to be helpful,” the little god assures and drifts nearer. “And you want to know what I do when I’m feeling stressed over something?”

“No.” 

Hypnos doesn’t seem to hear him and continues, “Take a much-needed break.”

A dainty, sleep-warm hand reaches out and gives him a pat on the shoulder. Dimly, Theseus feels his chin dip down to his chest. But the rage that sweeps through him is so all-consuming, so palpable, nothing else matters.

Theseus grits his teeth and slaps the touch away. The smacking sound seems to echo. Hypnos’s smile grows, eyes crinkling with mirth. Soft laughter escapes from the little god, making his blood boil. He lunges at the pleasantly smiling menace.

The floating body falls backward under Theseus’s weight, fading through the wall and taking him with it. Theseus falls, gripping tightly onto winged shoulders. Swaths of crimson and night envelop him just like in death. And just like every time he dies, that sleepy, sly smile taunts him.

Knowing. Ever-present. 

He is falling, falling, falling. 

“You are impossible!” Theseus snarls.

“I hear that a lot.” Hypnos laughs. 

His fingers dig into thin shoulders. To his surprise, the lithe body arches back. They are falling, or are they floating? Before he can lift his head to look around, thin hands cup the sides of his face. The unexpected gentleness sends a spike of fury through him. 

“Unhand me!” Theseus snaps. 

This creature doesn’t get to touch him like that, like a lover. 

Releasing cloaked shoulders, he snares wiry, grey wrists in a vise-like grip. He swears he can feel thin bones move under the fresh. It’s easy, far too easy to lift and pin the god’s hand behind his curly head. 

A mad smile slices Theseus’s face. How can such a weak, pathetic creature be a god? He almost laughs; the manic bubble threats to burst from his throat. But then, he looks at the fool’s face. The half-lidded gaze burns as Hypnos smiles up at him. The flush in ashen cheeks makes the content smile all the more maddening.

The tiny menace is enjoying every second of this.

Before he can think, warm lips press against his own—an unexpected shiver races down his spine. Theseus bites down on impulse. An echoing whine fills his ears, but a hot tongue lazily traces where his teeth clamp into a plump lower lip. 

The thin body beneath him presses back, legs slide to wrap around the jut of his hips. Gooseflesh raises across Theseus’s sides, and the hairs along the back of his neck stand on end. Assaulted by the rage burning through his frame and the slow but persistent touches that spur him on.

The little viper. 

There is one way to make that awful smile go away.

Theseus gives in, he falls. Teeth release. Fiercely, he presses his mouth against sleep-warm lips. He crushes the lithe body back with his own might. He lets the delirium consume him, and the little god drinks it in. 

Heels push into the small of his back, pressing them further together. Pressure grinds against his loins as hips writhe under him. All the rage that sung through his frame turns into something molten in the pit of him. The willingness, the fury, it goes to his head. Makes a strange, primal sort of desire flare through him.

Letting go of pinned wrists, he starts to hike up the red skirt to see if the other is similarly affected. A grey hand fists the front of the garment, preventing him from lifting it past thin hips. The grip is surprisingly firm. The small god has some strength to him after all. 

“Ah, ah, you can touch, but no peeking,” Hypnos teases with a sly smile. 

“You presume you can tell me what to do?”

The sleepy grin on the god’s face grows, and a dainty hand reaches to skim up the obvious desire lifting his chiton. Theseus manages to bite back an embarrassing moan. He glares but complies. 

Reaching a hand between splayed legs, his fingers smooth over slick folds. Not exactly what he anticipated, but that’s not what makes Theseus pause and undulate his touch back and forth. The little god is so wet, so dewy his touch slides effortlessly. His middle finger slips easily between moist folds, palm cupping the plump bud nestled in between. 

“You little tramp.” Theseus shoots the god a surprised, almost accusatory look. “I knew you enjoyed tormenting me, but this?”

“Hey, I wasn't lying when I said I was your biggest fan,” Hypnos supplies with a shrug, words breathy. 

He crooks his finger. There is no resistance. Warm wetness envelopes his touch greedily. The cheeky grin melts into bliss as Hypnos tilts his head back. Thin, grey fingers grip onto his shoulders. 

His finger thrusts in and out. Theseus is aware that he’s falling into the little god’s hands. But he’s fallen so many times, would it be so terrible to do so again now? It is difficult to turn down the willing. One finger becomes two. Warmth squeezes back enticingly around his touch. 

“You have a strange way of showing your support,” Theseus clips. 

“Ehhh, you don’t seem too put off by it.”

That stupid smile grows again. The sight of it makes his teeth clench, and Theseus removes his touch with a huff. He ignores how the whine that follows makes his loins twitch but fails to suppress a shiver. 

It’s ridiculously easy to grab the god by the hips and flip the little body over. Hypnos just glances behind him, undaunted as ever. The nuisance remains bowed but rises to his knees. Thin, dainty hands reach for the hem of his skirt and begin to roll the fabric up the back of soft, grey thighs.

The knowing leer sets Theseus’s teeth on edge. Grabbing at a thin wrist, he pins one of the god’s arms behind his back. The other hand hikes the crimson skirt up over ash-colored cheeks before bearing down with a vengeance on the pert backside.

_Slap._

He knows it’s doubtful that he could ever hurt a god in any lasting way. Still, the resounding smack of his palm against flesh and the way the little god’s face screws up is thoroughly satisfying. 

_Slap._

Ash colored cheeks start to turn a rosy hue. Hypnos gasps. Raised, bare hips shift tauntingly back and forth. 

**Slap.**

Fingermarks stand out in contrast. He continues until the flat of his palm stings. Pert globs quiver with every impact. It’s only when the little harpy is a panting, red-faced mess that he finally relents. Lifting the hem of his chiton, Theseus presses his hips forward, settling between spread, kneeling legs. 

It’s breathtaking how smoothly he sinks into the prone god beneath him. The dripping center is so soft, so wet it only takes a few shallow thrusts before he’s deeply seated. Theseus does something he’s become familiar with in his recent string of defeats. 

He falls. He falls again and again into the trembling body pinned under him. 

A keening cry leaves Hypnos with every sharp thrust. The god’s free hand reaches behind, gripping onto his bruised cheek to spread and hold himself further apart. It sends a strange sort of pleasure through Theseus to watch the little annoyance writhe and moan beneath him—a victory and a loss all knotted in one. 

He keeps going until tears streak the flushed gray countenance. Until the little god is crying his name. Until the warm passage around him clenches covetously. Until the heat coiling behind his navel snaps—

* * *

Wild blue eyes flash open. 

Theseus jolts awake with a choked shout. 

“Welcome back!” a terribly familiar voice greets.

“My king, are you alright?”

Theseus turns his head. The cheerful face of Hypnos and the towering form of Asterius come into focus above him. Vertigo hits him as Theseus realizes he’s now laying on the embroidered couch behind the sleepy deity’s usual post. 

How did he get here? 

Theseus grips his head. He sits up with a groan, immediately becoming aware of the quickly cooling wetness between the crease of his thighs. He shivers and presses his legs together and tries to inconspicuously rest his forearms on his lap. What in the infernal depths of Tartarus just happened?

“I...I believe so,” Theseus manages. “How long was I out?”

“I do not know, my king. When I emerged, you were already unconscious and in the care of this,” Asterius pauses to glance down at the floating greeter, “Little god.”

“I was just telling the king here how big of a fan I am of your work in the arena. It’s a tough job. And you guys are down here soooo often now. I know how stressful that can be. I just suggested he take a load off here and sit and wait for you, and then boom, out like a light,” Hypnos supplies with a shrug. 

That was a lie, but the truth didn’t seem any better. The last vestige of sleep now gone, Theseus could knit together that the God of Sleep had used his powers on him. Lulled him under a spell with a simple touch and slipped into his dreams. 

“Why are you a fan of us, me?” Theseus asks, bewildered. 

_‘Why did you let me fuck you in my dreams?’_ remained unsaid but very much at the forefront of his mind. 

“Are you kidding me! You’re the talk of the upper floors. They hardly ever let me leave my post, so I rarely ever get a chance to see the Champions of Elysium in person, much less in the act. Well, you know, except for the initial hello and all that.”

“But, us being here means we failed. You are the greeter, you know every time we fall. How, how can you still be a fan of us?” Theseus presses.

“You think I care about all that?” Hypnos laughs. “And sure, you’ll probably lose again, and again, and again. So what? Take it from me, everyone is always telling me what a failure I am all the time, it’s not so bad. And you both are technically doing your jobs to the letter."

“Of course, there is no other way,” Asterius answers resolutely. 

“Exactly. And that’s what I like about you guys, Megara, and Zagreus too,” Hypnos adds. " The thing about you is you get up again every time, no matter what.”

“You would dare compare us to that low-life blaggard?” Theseus snips, face pinching. 

“Yep!” Hypnos smiles back. “And when you die, I get the pleasure of greeting you, just like always. I don’t perk up for everyone like this, you know.”

“The offense is minimal,” Asterius offers after a moment.

Theseus blinks. He doesn't completely understand the little god’s angle, but he does gather that the other doesn't seem to view his and Asterius’s failures as a lasting loss. Instead, it’s an opportunity to see them. Strange.

"I see," Theseus says. He stands, doing his best to appear regal, and refuses to look down at himself. "We should be going, my companion."

The Minotaur gives a nod, instantly in-step with him. 

"Perhaps, we'll be seeing you," Theseus offers with a small turn of his head to the floating god.

The words make what appears to be a genuine smile lift Hypnos’s face. Strange, and stranger still how the look makes his stomach clench. 

"Great!” Hypnos gushes. “Oh, also, if you could do me a favor and try dying closer together next time, I could greet you both at once. You know, show my deepest support. I understand you're something of a package deal, right?"

He can see the confusion lining the Minotaur’s face as his companion glances down at him. 

"What is he talking about, my king?"

"I...I'll fill you in when we return to the arena," Theseus promises, giving the wide forearm a pat. 

Together, Theseus and his unfailing companion leave the House of Hades, again. He knows he’ll be back, eventually, but the idea doesn’t fill him with the same maddening sense of despair and dread it once did. 

"Sleep on it!" a cheerful voice calls after them.

He turns his head once more, watching as the dopey smile on the God of Sleep’s face curls mischievously. 

Theseus does.


End file.
